


Salad Cream

by TheFierceBeast



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Comfort Food, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, I'm not sure how you tag someone having a sly peek at their mate in the bath, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sandwiches, Voyeurism, they're so in love yeah?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 17:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17288576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: A little slice of domestic life between two idiots who don't even realise how in love they are.





	Salad Cream

“Claire? Claire, is that you in there?” The banging on the door is insistent and surprisingly annoying. Jones sinks beneath the hot water, the strange sensation of it glugging into his ears muffling the sound. When he can’t hold his breath any longer and resurfaces, the water drains with a pop and Dan’s still hammering on the door. “Jones?”

“What?”

“How long are you going to be?”

Jones slicks his hair back with both hands, water running in twin streams over his shoulders. “Ages.”

He hears Dan kick the door and mutter something. “Fucking… Jones, I need the sink.”

“Go in the kitchen.”

“I need the mirror. How long are you going to be?”

Jones sighs. The enamelled surface of the bathtub squeaks as he hauls himself up and leans over just enough to twist the lock to open. He plunges back in with a splash and turns the hot tap back on. “Jones.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Come in.”

“Cheers mate.” Dan doesn’t glance down at him as he walks straight to the sink and dumps a can of shaving foam and a razor on the glass shelf, but Jones can see him glance briefly over his shoulder in the mirror, checking the reflection of the bathtub.

“What’s the rush?” Jones yawns, leans his head back. Twists the hot tap off with his toes.

Dan’s tucking his hair behind his ears, squeezing white shaving cream out onto his fingers. “I got a meeting with the bank. Going to make a good impression this time.”

“Nice one.” With that, Jones picks up a face cloth, drapes it over his face and sinks lower into the bath with a satisfied sigh. Steam rises slowly from the water. Condensation rolling down the tiles, collecting in the blackened grouting in between. Jones’cock bobs fatly on the surface of the water. His black hair fans out, feather-soft around his head. Like a drowned girl in a Japanese film, Dan thinks, then wonders why his mind always comes up with stuff that morbid. He’s standing, poised with the razor, but it’s not often he gets to just look at Jones without Jones knowing. Certainly not when he’s naked…

“What you doing?”

“Shaving.” Says Dan.

“Then why aren’t you facing the mirror?”

Dan snorts, turning to face the mirror. “You’ve got a flannel over your face, how the hell can you tell which way I’m facing?”

“I can hear how your voice bounces off stuff.” Jones’ voice sounds dreamy. The steam from the bath drifts. Misting up the mirror; Dan rubs irritably at it with a corner of his sleeve. If you don’t open the window the whole room gets soaking wet, but Jones likes to be warm… “Dan?”

“What?”

“You should shave it off.”

“I _am_ having a shave.”

“No, I mean,” The sound of the water shifting, but the mirror’s too fogged to show movement. “You should shave it all off. You’d look dead fit.”

“Oh.” Oh. “Erm. Thanks.”

Jones says, “I bet Sasha would like it.” Oh. Oh well. “Dan?” Dan casts a sly glance back over his shoulder. The flannel’s still in place, Jones swishing the bath water around with one leg, knee raised. The hair’s plastered to his skin in darkened streaks, calf muscle clenching and relaxing. There’s this one little patch, just above his knee on the inside, devoid of hair, the skin white and soft… “Dan!”

“ _What_?”

“Make me a cuppa?”

Dan laughs. “Sod off.”

“Go on, misery. I let you in to have a shave, didn’t I?”

“Maybe.” It’s hard to shave properly when you’re smiling.

“Dan?”

“Yeah.”

“Make me a sarnie as well?”

Dan swears a bit as he nicks just under his chin, through trying not to laugh. “Don’t push it.”

“Aw, please? Just a crisp sarnie. With salad cream.”

“You’d put salad cream on cereal if you thought noone was watching.” Dan finishes shaving, rinsing his razor inadequately under the hot tap – running cold now, all the water used up. He towels his face dry, smooth and clean shaven, wipes an arc across the mirror to study his reflection in stages.

When Jones hears the door close with a click, he sinks back down again beneath the steaming water. He must’ve dozed off, because a few minutes later something wakes him. Balanced on the closed lid of the toilet is a mug of tea, a saucer with a sandwich, and a bottle of salad cream.

**Author's Note:**

> Written ages ago. Mad love to anyone reading it x


End file.
